The Pencil
by ncisduckie
Summary: Ziva has only a pencil. Can it really save her? ONESHOT! T/Z Pairing! *Set Pre-Season 7* Please R


**The Pencil**

The wooden pencil lay limp in my hand for several minutes. _They_ had given me the pencil to write my last goodbyes. Apparently I was going to die soon. I have been stuck with this hellhole for about three months—at least I think it has been that long. I can't keep track of much time. But torture will ensue after this letter is written. Both the paper and envelope sit blankly in front of me, taunting me.

Names of the person to send it to spin quickly through my head, giving me a headache. Abby. Gibbs. Ducky. And then it hits me. Tony. He may be the reason I am here instead of back in Washington, but every time his face crosses my mind my heart can't help but flutter.

Words quickly begin to flow from the now cherished pencil. Lies upon how I'm fine spill from the graphite. I can't bring myself to tell the truth. Even in death. The only truth that manages to escape into the letters is how I am sorry for being a jerk back when we had been in Israel all that time ago. Then it slips. Another truth I can't even think about. I hastily flip the writing instrument over—only to realize the pink nub called an eraser did not exist on the aforementioned utensil.

I sigh and crudely scratch out the words before folding the paper and stuffing it in the envelope. The address I know by heart almost instantly appears in my script. Inside, I hope they don't actually send this and tear it to shreds. I hope this is merely a way to allow me to die semi-happily.

But moments later one of _his_ minions kicks in the door with a terrified man from some foreign mail company in tow behind him. Damn, it is seeming to be actually sent and my goodbyes are in the form of smiling lies. I curse to myself at y stupidity and hand the letter to the mail man. He takes it with a tentative hand, not trusting me. I grip the pencil still in my hand in frustration and a light bulb goes off in my head.

Just as the two begin to leave, I jump out of my seat. Not even five paces pass before I reach my destination without the lackey noticing. With a steady hand the pencil plunges into his neck—effectively severing his cerebral cord. He goes down with a thunk.

The mail man looks back at me, his terror now pointed toward me.

"Don't be scared of me—run!" I rush, my words almost uncomprehend-able. I push him into the direction of the exit and survey around me. With one down and dozens more to go, I know the safest thing to do is stay in my little room and kill one by one. Sighing once more and I turn back to my torture chamber I've been confined to for all this time. I kick the man I killed into the left dark corner, plucking out the pencil beforehand.

Needless to say, I have a feeling I'll be out of her. Alive. Soon. Maybe it would be because of my ability with this bloody pencil. Maybe not.

. . .

Months pass after I'm saved by Tony—not the pencil. He hadn't even received the letter at the time! Things eventually return to normal. Mostly. Tony still hasn't really looked me in the eye, but something is different as he walks into the bull pen today. His strides have bounce. He wears a dumb smile on his face—like old times. He stops in front of my desk, bouncing on his heels.

"Yes?" I ask expectantly, looking up into his green eyes. I hope to find out why he's all giddy.

"Do you?" his voice is excited, as if he was a little boy instead of mid fourties.

I arch my eyebrow. "Do I what?"

He pulls out an envelope covered in my handwriting and my stomach flips. I stare at the cursed letter for what seems like minutes until my face betrays me by breaking into a broad smile. "Yes."

. . .

_Tony,_

_ I know we did not exactly leave out on good terms. But I am writing because I want you to tell everybody I am great. Because I am. I've been terribly busy with my work at Mossad and frankly only have time to write one letter. I have finally gotten back to being used to the weather and time changes—though it took a long while._

_ I apologize for not being the nicest person before you left me here. It was an accident, and I had no right to blame you. I do hope you forgive me. My father would kill me to find out, though, I miss working with all of you._

_ To tell you the truth, I have no idea if you are even going to get this letter. __But if you do, I want to let you know I love you, no matter what happens._

_Stay Safe,_

_Ziva David_

_. . ._

_**A/N: DONE! This was inspired by a one hour challenge based on the word 'Pencil.' I didn't know if I could do this—but my dear friend JenesisX told me if she could do it, so could I. But if you like Final Fantasy VII, check her out! Please Review!**_


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